


This Had Better Be Good

by Python07



Series: If Looks Could Kill [9]
Category: Forever (TV), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Flashbacks, M/M, spoilers for ep 2.3: The Good Traitor, spoilers for ep: 1.7: A Rebellious Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 04:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7743532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Treville's memories won't leave him in peace and Aurelian still disturbs him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Had Better Be Good

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue borrowed from ep 2.3: The Good Traitor marked w/*

Treville shifted uncomfortably. He could’ve waited in one of the more public spaces in the Cardinal’s palais but it was late and he wasn’t here on official business. So, he waited, seated stiff as a board and in full uniform, in one of the chairs in Richelieu’s private sitting room just off the bed chamber. He nervously turned his hat over and over in his hands.

Treville jumped to his feet at the sound of soft voices. He clutched the hilt of his sword. He took a deep breath to get ready to start defending himself and his presence there.

Richelieu shut the door behind him. He leaned against it. He shut his eyes and let out a weary sigh.

Treville’s words died in his throat. This wasn’t the Cardinal who had just put a woman on trial for something as absurd as witchcraft. This wasn’t the First Minister whose strength and presence swept before him. This was Armand. This was a tired man, weary from travel and the attempt on his life.

Richelieu blinked and just stared at Treville for a long moment. He swallowed. His voice was low and rough. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Treville tried to smile but it was more of a grimace. “I didn’t expect to want to be here.”

Richelieu’s eyes narrowed. He pushed away from the door and straightened up. “What are you doing here?” he asked flatly. 

Treville put both hands up. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

Richelieu folded his arms across his chest. “What did you come here for?”

Treville stepped closer. “You didn’t burn her.”

“I got what I wanted and I didn’t have to.” Richelieu snorted. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that they told you.” 

Treville didn’t think before putting a hand on Richelieu’s arms. “Only me,” he promised softly. “They won’t tell anyone else.”

Richelieu was still rigid but didn’t move to pull away. “Despite what you think of me,” he paused for a moment to grimace. “I didn’t particularly want to see her burn. It was a little too Dark Ages for my tastes. I’m not that cruel.”

Treville flinched, stung. “I was angry,” he said defensively. 

Richelieu stepped back, the Cardinal mask firmly in place. “On your way, Captain,” he said formally. “I don’t think it wise to continue our conversation at this time.”

Treville followed Richelieu and crowded him against the door. “No!” he snapped. It took a conscious effort to bring his voice under control. “I was angry…” he grunted in disgust. He stared at Richelieu’s chest. “And maybe a little jealous,” he mumbled.

Richelieu arched an eyebrow as studied Treville for a long moment. Abruptly, he relaxed and put his head back. He closed his eyes and chuckled. “It turns out Luca wanted to kill me, not bed me.”

Treville pressed closer. He buried his face in the side of Richelieu’s neck. He clutched Richelieu’s shoulders and inhaled deeply. “You’ll never know what it was like to see you convulsing and hear you screaming in pain,” he whispered roughly. “Even when I’m angry at you, I never want that.”

Richelieu opened his eyes and wrapped his arms around Treville. His voice was equally rough. “I’m here, Jean.”

Treville let out a shuddering breath. “Armand…” his voice trailed off helplessly.

Richelieu cupped the back of Treville’s neck. He rested his cheek against Treville’s hair. “How many times must I tell you that you will have me for as long as you want me?”

Richelieu’s palm was warm and Treville could feel Richelieu’s heartbeat. Richelieu was solid against him. Suddenly, want and heat flared through him. He started kissing the smooth skin.

“Jean,” Richelieu tried to protest even as he tilted his head to the side to give Treville free rein.

Treville trailed soft kisses up Richelieu’s neck, along his jaw, and up to his ear. “Please,” he whispered reverently. “Let me take care of you.”

Richelieu’s hand slid up into Treville’s hair. “Yes,” he breathed.

Luckily, Treville’s hands knew what to do as he worked by candlelight. His body may have been at the garrison. He may be seated behind his desk, warmed by fire.

However, his mind was reveling in his memories. He remembered carefully stripping Richelieu and pushing him down on the bed. He remembered Richelieu’s eyes on him as he swiftly rid himself of his own clothes. He remembered vowing to himself to take his time, to be gentle.

He didn’t hear the almost silent footsteps approaching him from behind. He didn’t feel the foreign presence in the room with him. He didn’t smell the man’s sweat or feel the heat of his body until a strong arm wrapped around his chest and a knife appeared at is throat.

The man’s mouth was close to the side of Treville’s head. “I warn you. I am a desperate man.*

Treville couldn’t help testing the man’s grip. The man’s grip tightened in response and the knife barely nicked him. “If you resist, I will kill you.*”

Treville swallowed. This is what he got for indulging in the past. All he could do was clench his hands into fists and listen.

“I want an audience with your king. And I have no time to waste.*”

The was the sound of the hammer of a pistol being pulled back. “Drop it,*” Athos ordered, soft but firm.

There was another pistol and d’Artagnan’s voice. “Do as he says. Or we will kill you where you stand.*”

Treville felt the man tense even more for a split second before he was released. He stood, pushed the arm away, and took a couple steps away. He turned to face his attacker. He looked him up and down. “I know you. You’re in the Spanish army. This is General Tariq Alaman.*”

“Former general,*” Alaman said angrily. His eyes slid over to Athos standing a few feet away, pistol still trained on him. “Now persecuted by my own country.” He looked at Treville again. “I have come here to offer my services to France. Believe me,” he said earnestly, “your king will want to see what I have brought for him.*”

Focusing on Alaman let Treville stop thinking about Richelieu, to stop remembering. He could shove his grief to the back of his mind. He could stop thinking about that god awful confrontation with Aurelian.

He, his musketeers, and Alaman awaited the King outside the palace. His sharp eyes took everything in, ever vigilant for threats. But his mind refused to stop going in circles.

He’d been so sure that Richelieu’s death had been some type of plot. He’d seen so many of them over the years. He knew Richelieu’s handiwork. 

Stupidly, he thought Aurelian would be the weak link in the chain. He thought the priest would be soft. He expected fear. He didn’t expect the anger that flared in Aurelian’s eyes, the defiance, the steel. He didn’t expect Aurelian’s seeming ability to see right through him and regard him as if he was wanting.

//Whatever physical pleasures you may have shared, you never cared to discover the man underneath the Cardinal, did you?//

The memory of those words still stung. He refused to give them any validity whatsoever. Still, it was obvious that Aurelian loved Richelieu like family and the fact that Aurelian didn’t think he was good enough rankled.

//Believe me, I have no wish to expose you or do anything that would tarnish his legacy. I only wish he would’ve chosen better.//

“I hate getting up at this unearthly hour, Treville,*” Louis complained, coming down the palace steps to meet them. He was in his dressing gown, his hair slightly mussed. A few advisors trailed behind him.

Treville had to swallow a glare when he noticed that Aurelian was one of them. In contrast to Louis, Aurelian was in his normal robes, not a hair out of place. He placidly followed behind Louis. Although something hard flitted through his gaze when it slid across Treville.

//I know exactly how you cast yourself. You, the honorable man of action while he was the manipulative snake. I suppose every hero needs a villain to shine.//

Treville minutely shook his head. He and the others bowed to Louis while Louis continued to complain, “Why do people harp on the beauty of the sunrise? It happens every day with tedious regularity.*”

Alaman went to kneel next to a nearby statue. Porthos, d’Artagnan, and Aramis stood just behind him. 

Louis finished trudging down the steps. He shuffled across the gravel. He was either half asleep, bored, or both. He carried a partially eaten apple.

Alaman took a small tube out of his pocket and sprinkled a small amount of white powder onto the statue’s base. He put the end of a small cord into it and put a rock on top to keep it in place. Then he stood up and motioned everyone back. “Please move back. Back. Please, Your Majesty, back.*

Louis let out a put upon sigh as he did as requested. “This had better be good, Treville.*”

While Aramis scoffed at the lack of powder, Alaman used two rocks to light the other end of the cord on fire. He rushed a few feet away.

Seconds later, the statue exploded in a shower of marble fragments. Everyone half ducked and cried out (except Aurelian, Treville noticed). Porthos drew his sword.

The statue’s head rolled to Louis’ feet. He put his foot on top of it. He put his apple and his mouth and started clapping gleefully.

Treville followed a half step behind Louis as the King approached Alaman. This put him right next to Aurelian. Aurelian did him the courtesy of ignoring him and he did the same.

//The nation needed strength and Louis couldn’t or wouldn’t provide it. So, it fell to the First Minister. Tell me. Who is going to provide it now?//

Treville squeezed the hilt of his sword, hard, until his fingers hurt. He had to focus or he was no good to his King. Richelieu was dead and it really didn’t matter what Aurelian thought of him.

Alaman held the tube up for Louis to see. “A few grains of this miraculous powder could sink a galleon. I am prepared to give up its formula.*”

“At what price?*” Louis asked.

“The Spanish have kidnapped my daughter. They are holding her here, in Paris, I want her back.” Alaman held the tube out closer to Louis. “Do we have a deal?*”

Louis smiled. He half turned and waved toward the palace. “Come inside. I must dress and you shall have breakfast with me.” He favored Treville with a brief, warm glance, the best he’d given Treville in weeks. “You too, Captain.”

Alaman gestured down to his own tattered robes. “Majesty,” he tried to protest. 

Louis threw a hand up. “Not another word for now. We shall discuss it afterwards, General. I don’t discuss matters of state at meals. It gives me frightful indigestion.”

Treville needed only to glance at Louis to know that he and his musketeers were going to have to rescue Alaman’s daughter. He nodded himself. Something to do. Action to serve the King and not think on all he’d lost.


End file.
